


Rainy Games

by officialvarrictethras



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Caves, F/M, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1729475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialvarrictethras/pseuds/officialvarrictethras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from Tumblr -- Varric/Aysunn stuck in the rain</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainy Games

Varric _despises_  the rain. He supposes it’s the one thing he shares with his dwarven brethren — they aren’t too  _keen_  on weather of any kind. Rain especially. And this is  _desert_  rain — hot and muggy, the kind that makes you feel like you’re being smothered.

To make matters worse, she doesn’t seem to mind it at all. Sitting astride her massive warhorse, she seems utterly content to walk alongside him in the semi-darkness as they make their way slowly back to the keep with their supply cart hitched to Magnus. Water cuts paths across her skin and makes her clothing stick  _obscenely_  to every curve. In the moonlight, the sheen of her granite skin reflects almost like glass. He hates himself for staring.

Eventually, she reins her horse to a stop at the top of a bluff, and shifts in her saddle. 

"We’ll never make it back to the keep before  _sunrise_  at this pace, my lady,” says Varric irritably as his own pony comes to a stop beside her.

With a sigh, she nods, and Varric finds himself suddenly enraptured by the droplets of water clinging to her lips. She licks them away and he swallows hard.  _Down boy,_  he thinks sheepishly, and fidgets with his reins in an effort to distract himself.

"I think I see a cave over there," she says, nodding her head towards a collection of massive boulders a short ways off. 

_A cave?_  Varric’s spent enough time in caves to last him a lifetime. But she’s already taken his silence as agreement and spurred her horse forward. Trying not to think of spending an entire night alone with her in a dark, cramped space, the dwarf urges his squat steed after her.

The cave, if it could be called that, is more like an outcropping of rock, protected on almost all sides from the elements. After they tie their horses as close as possible to the cave’s entrance, Aysunn drops to all fours and peers into the dark opening.

Varric doesn’t like the idea of her going in there first — what if there’s a cave in, or a dangerous animal? She’s much more important than he.

"Perhaps the smaller of us should go first, my lady."

Looking up, she affords him one of those little smiles that makes his stupid heart do a jig under his ribs.

"Be careful. Don’t want to have to dig you out." As he shrugs out of his duster and hands it to her, she sucks in a little impressed breath. It’s a rare sight to see him out of his coat, one that she fully intends to take advantage of. Varric’s well-built, if a little stocky, with a bit of extra meat on his bones — but not entirely unpleasant to look at. And look she does. Trying to ignore her unashamed staring, he rolls up the sleeves of his tunic and crouches by the opening.

The little channel leading to the cave is just barely tall enough for him walk instead of crawl. And he’s grateful, because the path is  _covered_  in mud. Making a face, he reaches the end of the short channel and straightens. It’s just barely tall enough for him to stand straight.

"Varric, are you alright?" she calls, voice laced with worry.

"I’m fine. Come on in, it’s  _perfect!_ ”

Moments later and she’s joined him the cave. Because of her size, she had to crawl through the filthy tunnel on hands and knees. He snorts back a laugh as she kneels before him, shivering and covered in mud.

"How dare you laugh, serah," she says, in a mock offended tone that makes him grin. But she wipes his grin away when she smears a muddy hand across his cheek.

"Oh, that’s just  _rude!_ " he complains, spitting mud onto the cave floor while she chuckles. Teeth chattering and limbs trembling from the cold, she tries to hand him back his duster — he’s pleased to see it mostly undamaged by mud.

Ever the gentleman, Varric instead drapes it around her shoulders. He lingers, hands on her shoulders. “You take it. I’ll build us a fire.” 

Smiling a secret smile to herself, she pulls the too-small coat as close around herself as she can, and scoots towards where he’s begun building a fire. Blowing on her trembling, ice-cold fingers, she watches him work in silence for a long moment.

"I’m not really tired," she says at last.

"Me neither. Don’t suppose we bought playing cards?"

She shakes her head ruefully. Her teeth chatter around her words. “N-No. M-Meant it t-to be a sh-short trip.” She pulls the duster a little tighter around herself and Varric hurries with the fire.

Once he gets a comfortable warm blaze going, he clears his throat. “Well, any suggestions, my lady?”

The look she gives him is downright  _wicked_. He immediately wonders if he’s in over his head. Stretching her clawed fingers towards the warmth, she flexes them a little.

"There is a game that I used to play as a child with my adoptive brothers."

Varric isn’t sure if he likes the sound of this. Brothers play  _rough_  and while the idea of her pinning him to the ground in a wrestling match has its merits, he’d rather wait until they weren’t about to freeze to death.

"It’s called truth or dare. Pretty self explanatory." Her expression is unreadable now, carefully crafted to give nothing away.

"Alright. Gimme your best shot, my lady."

"Truth or dare, then?"

"…Dare."

Tapping a long finger on her chin, she makes a show of deciding. “I dare you… to crawl through the opening and get all muddy.”

Varric scowls at her. “You’re very cruel,” he says with a grimacing pout, but he’s not one to turn down a challenge. He rises to his feet, crosses the little chamber to the opening, and slips inside on hands and knees.

"Andraste’s tits, my best tunic!" he grumbles, when he reemerges, mud smeared across his gloves, elbows, knees, and the open neck of his tunic. Giggling madly, Aysunn covers her smile with her hand, but Varric still feels it’s a worthy trade.

Peeling off his soiled gloves, he sits beside her, close enough that their thighs brush against one another. The dwarf makes disgusted noises as he slaps his gloves onto the rock floor by the fire, in the hopes they might dry before  _dawn_.

"Alright, alright. You next."

"Hmm. Truth."

A million questions fly into his mind at once — most too embarrassing to ask without being properly drunk. He turns a few promising ones over for a bit, staring at the cave ceiling.

"You told Fancy that you hadn’t seen her favorite hand mirror, but you can’t bullshit a bullshitter, my lady. What happened?" He grins, wiggling an eyebrow for emphasis.

Aysunn fidgets guiltily, and pulls the lapel of his duster up to cover her blushing face. “Well… I  _might_  have dropped it when Sera caught me sneaking around the First Enchanter’s tent! Oh, Varric, _please_ don’t tell her! Vivienne will be furious!” she begs in response the Varric’s laughter.

He wipes a tear of mirth from his eye with a sigh. “Oh,  _Maker’s breath_ , my lady. You think I want to be the one to deliver that message?  _Nooo_ thank you.”

They both laugh, and Varric’s treacherous heart skips a few precious beats at the delighted smile she gives him. He clears his throat. “My turn, I believe? I’m going to go with truth — your dares are mean.”

Aysunn beams. “Truth, huh? Let’s see… Do you shave your beard off, or can you just not grow one?” Her eyes twinkle with mirth.

Balking as if she’s physically assaulted him, the dwarf puts a hand to his chest and pulls a pained face. “You  _wound_  me, Inquisitor! Alright, but you’ve got to  _swear_  this doesn’t leave the cave.” She nods, grinning. Varric heaves a deep sigh.

"I can’t grow them. Nothing more than stubble, no matter how much I try." His muddy fingers stroke his beardless chin ruefully. "Bartrand always used to tease me," he adds pensively, looking at the fire. After a moment, his little smile vanishes as he becomes lost in his own pathetic memories.

Suddenly, her clawed fingers are at his jaw, stroking the stubble lightly, and he’s hauled back to the present. “I like it,” she says, simply and without preamble.

Sod it all, now he’s blushing. “Well, I’ll make sure to keep it around, then.” He manages a little smile, and her fingers slip from his cheek. He hates how much he misses the contact.

"My turn?"

He can only nod.

"Dare."

"Take your hair down," he says without hesitation. She’s opted to wear it up in a bun today, because the desert gets  _very_  hot when the sun is bright. Uncertain and suddenly shy, she touches the damp ball of silver hair at the nape her neck. 

"You, um. You wore it down at that fancy Orlesian ball, and it, it took my breath away to look at you. Please."

Now it’s her turn to blush. Raising a clawed hand, she pulls the little pins from her hair, and it cascades down her neck in elegant curling tendrils. Raking her hands through it to loosen and separate the strands, she gives it a little ruffle and looks at him.

"How’s that?"

“ _Beautiful_. You’re  _so_  beautiful, my lady.” Now is not the time for frivolous, flowery language — he  _needs_  her to know this one, simple fact.

She can’t seem to will her lungs to work. “Your turn,” she breathes.

"Dare."

"Kiss me." 

He is all too happy to oblige. Reaching out, he cups the back of her neck, and draws her face closer. Their lips meet in the space between them, soft and tender and  _Great Ancestors_ , but he’s dreamed of this moment for months. Less experienced than he at this exquisite art, Aysunn fumbles a little at first, unsure of herself and  _Maker_ , what does one do with hands when kissing?

But Varric has experience enough for them both. Gently and without breaking away, he guides her arms around his neck, shivering when her claws comb through his damp hair. She sighs against his mouth, and he tastes spice and sweetness, beautiful contradictions wrapped up in this woman. He finds himself watching her closed eyes as the kiss wears on — he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of this miracle.

When his lungs scream for air, he pulls away just a fraction, panting a little.

"Good game," he says breathily, and she bites her lower lip when she smiles.

"The best. Let’s play again," she whispers. Her smile turns impish, and pulls him in for another heated kiss. He finds himself chuckling against her lips.

Needless to say, between the fire and the kisses, neither of them felt cold anymore.


End file.
